


To Touch You Again with Life in Your Hands

by Bluehaven4220



Category: due South
Genre: Benton Fraser & Elaine Besbriss friendship, Benton Fraser & Ray Vecchio friendship, Between Seasons/Series, Gen, Original Character Death(s), POV Benton Fraser
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 06:07:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7088296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluehaven4220/pseuds/Bluehaven4220
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He closes his eyes and the dream he has been dreaming for weeks starts once again. This time, though, it is so clear it almost seems as though it is real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Touch You Again with Life in Your Hands

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a story for a completely different fandom that I wrote and published on a different site many years ago, but I wanted to see how it would work in due South. I'm really proud of this one. 
> 
> Warning: It is very bittersweet. Tissues are available from the box in the corner.
> 
> Currently unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine. Please feel free to comment, the door is always open.

Unable to move, Benton Fraser, RCMP, can feel his world falling down around him, helpless to stop it from doing so. The IV in his arm pumping him full of fluids, his back baring another bullet wound and scar, a tube up his nose to help him breathe. He closes his eyes and the dream he has been dreaming for weeks starts once again. This time, though, it is so clear it almost seems as though it is real.

_He is riding through Chicago in a horse drawn carriage, the dark of the night unrelenting. The rain is pouring from the darkest clouds he has even seen, soaking through his shirt and pants, but he does not feel it. In fact, he is too numb to really feel anything._

_Suddenly his chest is constricting, and it is difficult to breathe. It is ironic because he knows he is not having a heart attack, but rather his grief is ready to consume him. He has never felt pain such as this before. If only he could see Joanne’s face one last time, touch her one last time, tell her that if he could take it all back, he would, and everything would be right again._

_There is a figure in the distance, he can see her from where he sits. She is as beautiful as she was the day she stood in front of him and said yes. She stood in front of him, her veil covering his face, her dress trailing behind her, her train being held by her bridesmaids (her niece and youngest sister, who was still so young when this happened). It is still branded in his mind’s eye._

_He can still see her smiling at him as her stepfather walked her down the aisle, as per her request, tears streaming down her face as her hand joins with his. He can see himself kissing the man’s hand in respect, and then his father stepping aside. He can faintly hear the priest’s words, telling him to “Repeat after me…” and concluding the vows with expressing the notion that he may now kiss his bride._

_He can still feel her lips pressed gently against his as he pulled her into his arms. The church had erupted in applause, and they’d walked down the aisle arm in arm, her smile broader than he’d ever seen before. They’d walked outside into the sunlight when there had been a series of shots fired. Instinctively he had attempted to shield her from the hail of greedy bullets, but once they had stopped, he pushed himself off her to find the front of his uniform stained with her blood._

_He can still hear his own voice shouting to those around him. Shouting for them to call an ambulance, a squad car, anything. He knew someone had chased after the person who had shot at her, but at the time he didn’t care. He knelt frozen beside his new wife, whose eyes were streaming. From the corner of her mouth he could see a trickle of blood. Her body jerked beneath his hands, and she took her last breath cradled in his arms._

_But the woman standing in the distance is not the same woman who was buried a few days later. This woman is still wearing her wedding dress, and it is as white and as pure as she is. There is no blood running down the side of her mouth, her eyes are no longer glassy with life lost. She is somber, slowly gliding toward the carriage he is riding in._

_He signals the man driving to stop, and he climbs down to find himself face to face with her. She has the same straw- coloured hair as she did, the same brown eyes. And then he realizes who he is looking at…_

_He is looking at **her**. Joanne. His wife. The woman he lost far too soon._

_Lifting the veil over her head, he stares back into those same eyes. She stares back at him with equal intensity. Stepping back, he reaches forward to touch her face, stroking her cheek with the tips of his index and middle fingers. She says nothing, only capturing his hand in hers, and reassuring him that he is not to blame._

_The tears begin to well as he kisses her fingertips, silently begging her to forgive him, telling her that if he could make it right, he would._

ooOoo

It is then that the sedative begins to wear off, and he is slowly waking up. There is someone standing over him, but he is not quite sure who it is. The person is holding onto his hand, telling him “if you can hear me, squeeze my hand. Squeeze my hand…”

His fingers wrap around the hand holding his, and his arm shakes lightly. He is still here, he is still alive.

Yet at that point he wished he’d died. He wanted so badly to see her again. He should have protected her, kept her safe. He should’ve dived in front of her and let her live. Why was she the one to take the bullet to the chest?

On that note, who the hell would shoot a bride coming out of the church on her wedding day?

His eyes open, and he no longer sees her face, but the face of Ray Vecchio… at least he _thinks_ it is Ray Vecchio.

He cannot speak, and this frustrates him to no end. He wants so badly to yell, the pain that seemed to have subsided suddenly bubbling to the surface. Unable to breathe deeply, the tears run down the side of his face.

He feels the fool, how could he allow himself such a moment of weakness? He does not cry; he has never allowed himself the opportunity to do so and he will _not_ start now. His eyes roll back in his head, and his heart monitor starts to beep rapidly. The person who had been holding his hand is forced out of the room, and all goes black.

ooOoo

_She is suddenly in view again, her eyes sad and soulful. He tries to reach for her again, but she catches his hands and shakes her head._

_“Don’t ask to stay, it’s not your time,” she insists. “You can’t come back to me, you aren’t finished yet.”_

_“I love you…” he sounds like a young boy terrified of the monsters lurking under the bed._

_“I know,” her language is simplistic, not at all like the woman he knew before. “I will always love you, but you cannot stay. You do not belong here, not yet.”_

_“But why are you here, when I should be instead?”_

_“Because it was my time to go,” she leans forward and plants a soft kiss on his cheek. “Go back, they need you…”_

_He nods, willing himself to believe she is right. He stretches his arm out of the side, and falls backwards, landing not on the ground, but instead back into his body._

ooOoo

It has been three weeks since he has last dreamt of her, and he is ready to go home. He is tired of staying in bed, tired of his rehabilitation exercises, tired of being asked whether or not he is feeling better, tired of seeing the same food tray every day, but most of all he is tired of knowing that he will never see her smiling face again.

He is wheeled out of the hospital in the early morning into Elaine’s waiting car, as Ray could not be there to pick him up. Her curls are shining in the still rising sun, her eyes sparkling, her voice like music to his ears. She opens the passenger side door and helps him into the car. Closing the door as he slowly buckled his seat belt, she thanks the orderly and walks around to the driver’s side. Getting in, she buckles her own seat belt and presses herself into the back of the driver’s seat. Sighing, she turns to him and smiles.

“Ready?” she asks,

Giving her a short smile, he nods once and turns to look out the window.

“Okay,” she turns the key in the ignition and puts the car in drive.

He does not know how long it takes them to reach his apartment once again, but once they are there it does not matter. She helps him out of the car, takes his bag in one hand and grips his shoulder with the other. Once he is steady on his feet, they head up the elevator to the third floor, as it is still difficult for him to navigate the stairs.

She turns the key in the lock and gets him into the apartment. Dressed in sweatpants and a thin sweater, he has no qualms about rolling right into bed. This is what he does, and as Elaine sets the bag down in the corner of the bedroom, she turns around to head back toward what passes for his living room. She has explained to him that she will be staying with him for the next week, having saved vacation time, to help him get used to the apartment again.

As she turns, he hears the words leave his mouth faster than he can stop them.

“Stay,” he begs her, “here. Please…”

She smiles, kicks off her shoes, and climbs into the bed beside him. Gently, he takes hold of her arms and wraps them around his torso. It is what he needs, to feel her body pressed against his, giving him that sense of security, that feeling of love between friends.

He feels her kiss his shoulder, and slowly he drifts off to sleep.

It is the first time in a very long time that he has not dreamt of the blood flowing from Joanne’s chest, of her lifeless body cradled in his hands.

Instead he dreams of her lips pressed against his.

It is this night that he decides he should head back north, just for a few weeks.

It is a good night.


End file.
